Fish Tank
by RichestWolf
Summary: "Adam, I want my name to be Adam." Adam remembers his early childhood, and explores his recent relationships.
1. Chapter 1

Fish Tank

Chapter 1

He was young, maybe five or six, it was certainly one of the earliest memory he could recall. In this memory, he looked on into a fish tank with many different types of fish; there were small fish, big fish, colorful fish, dead fish. He was mesmerized as they swam so aimlessly, seemingly without a care, their only troubles being when they'd be fed next.

He was in trouble, again; his father was talking to his teacher in the next room. He had gotten into a fight with Charlie Harrison, a mean boy who carried around a blue blanket and had a permanently stuffy nose. Charlie had gotten the other boys to ban him from playing cops and robbers.

"Cause only boys get to be cops and robbers. You have to play house like the other girls." Charlie had poked him hard in the shoulder and ran off to play. He on the other hand, had played alone with the blocks, stacking them and stacking them, only to knock them down with a toy airplane. Then later, in revenge, he had taken Charlie's prized blue blanket and hid it in his cubby-hole, when Charlie realized it was gone, he had thrown a fit. Charlie immediately accused him of stealing it and yelled.

"You're just mad cause you're not a boy! You're just a stupid girl!" In a fit of rage he had yelled back

"I am a boy!" Then launched himself at Charlie and instigated a full blown fist fight. The teacher had separated them and searched his cubby, finding the signature blue blanket. She had called his father, and now there he was. He scowled as he ran his tongue across his split lip, and looked to Charlie. He was sitting in the corner, his arms crossed, with a bloody nose and black eye. He hated getting into trouble, but he hated when people called him a girl even more. He looked back to the fish.

Only when a tiny voice drifted into his ears did he even realize someone was next to him, admiring the fish as well.

"I wonder which ones are boys and which ones are girls..." She said, never once giving her fish viewing companion a glance. She was the new girl that the teacher had been talking about. He had looked at the clock, it had been a little late to just be getting to school.

He sat there somewhat timid. He shrugged, hoping that was the end of the inquiry, because that question gave him a weird feeling in his stomach. Like a slight pressure, that grew more uncomfortable the longer the girl stood by him. He always had stomach aches; he never really knew what they meant until he was older. At that age they had blamed it on his anxiety, being diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder, explained a lot of things at that age. Why he constantly had stomach aches, why he was always on edge, and how he never really could go to sleep. Now he knew the stomach aches were the physical reaction to his crippling dysphoria that was present even in that young age. The girl had big brown eyes and pig-tails; she tapped on the glass and looked to him.

"Are you a boy or a girl?" It was somewhat of an innocent question. He kind of looked like a girl, with his round face, long lashes, and the long jean dress he was sporting. But everything else about him said otherwise, his posture, his short hair, even the scowl on his face was decidedly masculine. The uncomfortable pressure in his stomach increased tenfold. He knew the answer; he knew what he was _supposed_ to say. But he didn't say it, instead he shrugged again.

"Oh, well I'm a girl. My name's Stacy." She said, looking at him with her big brown eyes. She smiled prettily up at him, and he realized she was expecting his name in return.

"I'm Gracie." He said quietly; his shoulders tensed as he heard the door to the teacher's office open up. He looked at his father's face. His jaw was clenched as well as his hands; he walked to him and grabbed his upper arm.

"Come on Gracie, we're going home." His father's grip on his arm was painful, but he knew better than to say anything. The drive home was quiet; the only sound was his father's loud yet even breathing. When they pulled up into his homes driveway, his father had taken his face in between his large hands and forced him to look him in the eyes. His father drew in a shaky breath and said through clenched teeth.

"Gracie, you are not a boy." He shifted his eyes away from his fathers.

"No Grace, Look at me! You are _not _a boy! Say it to me!" He father's voice was harsh with anger and embarrassment. The hands on his face gripped tighter. Tears stung his eyes as he shakily responded.

"I'm not a boy." His eyes filled with tears as his father roughly let go of his face. He blocked his teary eyes from his father with his left hand as his right rubbed his upper arm, still throbbing from where his father had roughly grabbed him. He didn't remember how long he had stayed in his father's car, pinching painfully at his leg to keep himself from crying.

Later that night his mother had lectured him about fighting in school, as he listened to his mother his eyes would occasionally stray to his father, who had a blank look on his face. From that day forward he always felt uncomfortable around his father. He was never really around to begin with, and when he was it was to punish him somehow, he was like a stranger. He remembers hearing his mother and father arguing pretty often, and it was always about something different. Only after that day was it about him. He only snippets of the argument, but even then he knew what the words meant.

"She's a tomboy, Paul. What do you expect; she's just in that phase where she's afraid to grow up. To her being a "girl" is like growing up!"

In those early stages of his childhood, his mother had held onto the hope that he would grow out of it, while his father had taken his clothing preference and choice of playmates more seriously.

"It's not right Audra! This isn't some silly childhood phase; she's messed up in the head! Tomboys don't have to be medicated for anxiety!"

"How could you say that about your own child? She's an anxious little girl! Besides she's been doing fine without her medication." His father scoffed, and from his room he heard his father go to the fridge. That was another thing he didn't like about his father, the way he drank. He never became violent or disorderly; in fact his father became completely blank. He had nightmares about that blank face his father would have after a few drinks.

"Tomorrow we're taking away anything that might be putting ideas in her head. No more trucks, only Barbies, and no more jeans either, she only wears dresses from now on." He began pinching his leg again, he didn't want to cry. Why should he, anyways? They were just toys, they were just clothes. But deep down he knew that wasn't true. This was truly the worst punishment he could think of. He went to sleep with tears in his eyes, but once again he refused to let them fall.

While his mother was more traditional with her punishments, his father was torturously creative. From that night on he was constantly forced to wear dresses, forced to keep his hair long, and the punishments he was given were things that most girls would kill for. If he talked back to the teacher, a new dress would be added to his wardrobe. If he didn't clean up his room, he was forced to wear nail polish to school the next day. He cut his hair; he was taken to the salon and given extensions. The only friend he had back then was Stacy, the brown eyed girl with pigtails that had inquired about his sex when they first met.

Stacy was nice and constantly changed her name. When he had seen her the next day at school, she had changed her name to Betty, and introduced herself to the class as such. Now that he thought about it, maybe Stacy wasn't her real name to begin with. Her parents were very laid back and liberal, newlyweds with soft smiles and kind eyes. They had just moved to his town to settle down and raise their child in a nice suburb. They let their daughter dress however she wanted, which almost always consisted of polka dotted rain boots and a tutu, and they believed it was healthy to let their daughter "explore herself spiritually" and encouraged her to make friends of all shapes and sizes. So when she saw him playing alone during their recess time, she had approached him out of curiosity, having heard and seen the fight.

"Why do you play alone?" She asked, he shrugged and said.

"Why do you always try to talk to me?" She smiled her pretty smile and sat next to him, she began stacking blocks and humming a small tune.

"Gracie is a girl's name." He tensed.

"Yeah, so." He knocked over his tower of blocks and began to make another one, but this time bigger and taller.

"You don't have to be angry, momma says that names don't define us. So even though Gracie is a girl name, doesn't mean you have to be a girl. You can even change your name if you don't like it. Well, that's what momma says. " His eyes widened as the girl continued to stack blocks. His stomach began to hurt.

"So, why do you play alone?" She asked again, his attention turned back to the blocks.

"The girls always make me play the baby, and the boys said girls can't be cops or robbers." It was the girl's turn for her eyes to widen.

"No! That's not true, my auntie is a cop, and she arrested a robber once that was a girl!" she quickly stood up ready to search for the boys to set them straight.

"No, don't you'll get in trouble if you fight them." He grabbed her hand and tried to pull her back down, but she wrestled it away.

"I won't fight them, I'm just gonna tell them they're wrong, and that you should be able to play!"

"I don't want to play with them anymore, they're mean." He kicked over his tower. It barely even went up to his knees anyways.

"I like playing alone, nobody tells me what to do." He stared at the blocks; they were really his only friends. Always there to calm him down, kept him from punching Charlie Harrison in the face every time he was within arm's reach, every single block was special to him. They didn't yell at him either, or grab him so hard it hurt, or make his mom cry, and they certainly didn't give him nightmares. Stacy looked to the ground and kicked a bit of dirt.

"So if I want to play with you, I just have to be quiet?" She looked up at him with her big eyes and that's when he realized how pretty she was. He blushed and looked down at his jeans. Stacy was his first crush; he remembered how the sick feeling he constantly had in his stomach had turned into butterflies when he was around her.

"No, you don't have to be quiet; you just can't tell me how to do things." She smiled a blush on her own cheeks.

"It's ok, you're better at building than me anyways." They smiled and began building the biggest, tallest block building he had ever attempted.

"So what do you want your name to be?" He stopped and looked at her in confusion.

"I know you don't like Gracie, 'cause you face looks sad every time someone says it." He nodded and thought for a moment. He had an uncle he really liked because he always gave him hand-me down boy clothes when his mom and he would visit, so when he played he wouldn't ruin his dresses. He liked how his uncle's name sounded, and how it sounded when other people said it. People on his mother's side of the family always said he looked more like his uncle than his mom. He smiled and looked to Stacy.

"Adam, I want my name to be Adam."

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Fish Tank

Chapter 2

"Your father and I are divorcing, Gracie." He was stunned into silence. He had to admit, even though his parents constantly fought, and there were no memories of a peaceful household, he would have never of guessed that they would separate. He remembered the uneasy feeling he had when his mother had called him down for a talk. They never talked to him in the same room, let alone at the same time. So he had known that it was important news about to be announced, and it was not to be taken lightly. He remembered the conversation vividly.

He sat on the living room couch, looking at both of his parents. His father was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his mother stood in the middle of the room, her hands at her sides as she shifted her weight foot to foot.

"Do you know what that means, Grace?" He had looked to his father and nodded,

"It means you guys don't love each other anymore." His father sighed and shook his head; he pushed himself off the wall and walked to him, got down on one knee, so he was at eye level with him, and said to him in a forceful voice.

"It doesn't have to mean that, we just think it would be better for you if we separated." He shifted in his seat and looked from his mother then back to his father. He looked into his father's eyes, which was a very difficult task for his younger self. His father and he shared the same eyes. They were wide, expressive, bright blue eyes. So when he looked into the almost identical pools of blue, he saw frustration. He hadn't wanted his dad to be frustrated with him. So he had said the only thing that seemed to make sense.

"So it means it's my fault?" His father let out a large sign and ran his hands down his face. He felt his face flush. That definitely didn't work; he should have just kept his mouth shut.

"No, Grace, it just means we don't feel the same way we did when we first married. Our constant bickering isn't healthy for you." His father stood up, and turned his head to look out the window. He was confused, so it wasn't his fault, yet they were doing it for him? His young mind couldn't wrap around that reasoning. He began inconspicuously pinching his leg; he knew from other kids, whose parents divorced, that they mainly stayed with one parent and would visit the other only on weekends or holidays. He remembered his father's grip on his arm.

"Can I stay with mom?" His father let out a bitter laugh, and he wished he hadn't of said anything. He had never seen his father so frustrated.

"Yeah you'd like that wouldn't you?" He watched as his father ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself down.

"Ok that's enough Paul." His mother said sharply. They both stood facing each other, daring the other to start something. His mother walked slowly to him, and bent down to his level. He averted his eyes.

"I want you to know one thing Gracie. This is not your fault, it's ours. We lost our way, and we can't find the path we started on. We're lost, and this is the best way to find a new direction, to start a better life. Do you understand now, Gracie?" His mother had a way with words. Her father had been a lawyer, so she had always been good and clear with what she said. He realized maybe that's why his father always seemed so irritated, because his mother always seemed to get the better of him in their arguments.

Even though he still didn't really understand he had nodded anyways.

"And yes Grace, you'll be staying with your mother." His father's harsh voice startled him. It had been the same voice he used in the car, that day he got in trouble. He didn't trust his words so he once again just nodded.

The days following the conversation had been hectic for him, his mother and he would be moving in with his Gran Gran and Papa, until they found a more permanent place to stay. When he arrived at school three days later, he had immediately found Stacy during art, and told her everything that had happened, and that he would be moving away. She instantly stopped coloring, and looked at him with her pretty eyes.

"You'll go away? But why, why can't you stay at this school?" His friend's eyes brimmed with tears. He turned his head away and shrugged. He chewed on his cheek and willed the tears away.

"I don't know. Gran Gran and Papa live far away. Mom says that it will be good if I start fresh somewhere else." He mindlessly drew swirls on his paper, usually art was his favorite time of the day, but today he didn't feel like drawing anything.

"We'll see each other again though, won't we? You'll visit your dad and you can play with me, right?" He had smiled and nodded. She smiled back and surprised him with a kiss, on the lips. He jerked back, and looked around, hoping no one saw. His stomach began to hurt, and he turned from his friend. Stacy didn't seem to notice his change in demeanor, and continued to talk about the things they would do when he visited. He was relieved when recess had come; his friend was usually quiet as they built tall block buildings. He was finally relaxed, when he heard Charlie's voice taunting them.

"Stacy, and Gracie, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!" He almost immediately felt his face burn with humiliation. He turned hesitantly to his friend, but instead of the embarrassment he was almost positive would show on her face, her eye's blazed with anger.

"Yeah, so what? Kisses are for people that like each other! You're just jealous cause nobody wants to kiss you, Charlie Harrison!" Charlie's face burned with embarrassment, he sniffed and turned his head.

"No! Why would I want a stupid girl to kiss me anyways?" It was his turn to get angry, Stacy wasn't a stupid girl. She was, in fact, the smartest, prettiest girl he had met so far. He wasn't about to let Charlie get the last word, or let him hurt his friend's feelings.

"No, you are jealous! I know you like Stacy, and you're just mad because she likes me better. She'll never like you because your big baby, Charlie!" Charlie growled and launched himself at him. Charlie was on top of him trying his hardest to punch him in the face, but he didn't punch back; he didn't want to get into trouble again. Instead he protected his head, and hoped that the teacher would catch him before the punches started hurting. He was relieved when the punches stopped, but was taken aback when he saw what had stopped the barrage. Stacy had jumped onto Charlie's back and was now holding him in a headlock.

"What is going on here?!" He turned to see his teacher running towards them, he got to his feet and tried to break them apart. He didn't want his friend to get into trouble because of him.

Charlie and Stacy were separated, he was interrogated. He hadn't blamed the teacher than, he was always somehow in the middle of a fist fight. Thankfully after telling his side of the story he didn't get into trouble, but his mom had been called. He dreaded the lecture he would surely get once he got home. His mom was in a lot of stress, and he had not wanted to add to it.

"Here I'll give you my number, so we can talk and it will be like you aren't gone." He looked at the bit of paper with Stacy's phone number on it. He didn't like the feeling his aching stomach was giving him. When had those butterflies in his stomach turned to stone? As he boarded the bus, he looked back at his school, for the last time. He caught a glimpse of Charlie apologizing to Stacy, a blush on his cheeks. She smiled at the apology, sporting an identical flush. He felt his heart clutch, Charlie was a real boy. Not a pretend one like he had believed he was. Stacy would definitely choose Charlie over him; he took his seat on the bus. Once he got home, he would be leaving; he would be going far away. He looked at the bit of paper, and let it slip from his hands. It was better to forget her, than to have his heart hurt, just like it was better if he didn't visit his dad.

It wasn't the last time he saw Stacy. In fact the other day, while he was walking hand in hand with Becky, he saw her. Becky and him were on a date, well, if you call sneaking her out of her house, while her family had dinner, than bringing her to a pawn shop a date, then yes they were on a date. Becky was admiring the vintage jewelry, when he heard a small voice.

"Which ones do you think are real diamonds, and which ones do you think are fake?"

He didn't have to look to know who it was. He smiled knowingly and shrugged. She tapped the glass.

"So tell me Adam, are you a real diamond or a fake diamond." He clenched his body a bit, but she laughed and said

"Don't worry; I know you're a real diamond." She looked to his girlfriend who was now trying on the hats. He smiled as Becky looked to him, her smile giving him butterflies.

"She makes you shine like one." He looked to his old friend, first crush, and first kiss. Her brown eyes looked up at him, a small smile on her pretty face. He suddenly felt guilty for never calling her.

"I'm sorry I-"She held her hand up and shook her head.

"I know, it's ok, Adam. I knew you wouldn't call when you didn't kiss me back. I should be sorry for making you so uncomfortable." She looked down and played with the airline spoons on display.

"Are you happy?" He asked suddenly. He wasn't really sure why he had asked it. But it felt like the right thing to ask. She looked up at him and slowly nodded a smile growing on her face.

"Are you? He returned her smile and looked to Becky. He could tell her that Becky made him so happy he felt as if he would burst. He could tell her that when she looked at him, he wanted nothing more than to hold her, and love her forever. That when she touched him, his aching head and heart suddenly didn't throb anymore. He then realized describing his love for Becky was a near impossible task, so he settled for a simple answer.

"Very happy."

"Good." She then turned to her companion he didn't realize she had.

"Come darling we're leaving, we'll be late for the movie." A tall young man walked out from the vintage suits and sneezed.

"Good, cause I'm about to sneeze my brains out. Why do pawn shops always make my nose run?" She latched onto her companions arm, and as they were heading towards the exit she said,

"You and I both know, Charlie Harrison, that you always have a runny nose."

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Fish Tank

Chapter 3

"You remember Omar, right Gracie?" No, to be honest he didn't particularly remember such a person, but the name did draw up memories of kind eyes and warm smiles. He knew his mother had been seeing someone, and even if his young mind didn't fully comprehend the passage of time in long periods, it was still pretty obvious that she had moved on very quickly.

It had been five months since his parent's divorce. His mother had been given sole custody; both of his parents had amicably decided the arrangement without having to appear in court, while his father was given access to visits. He had yet to see or hear from his father since the decision had been made. He had to admit watching his father get into his car and drive away without even a glance back at him, hurt more than he could have imagined. He and his mother had stayed with his grandparents for about a month before finding a small apartment complex that was in pretty close proximity to his mother's new job. He wasn't sure what it was but it seemed to wipe her out, because she would immediately take a nap once she got home.

He was settling very awkwardly into his new school, he was mostly ignored, which was fine with him. He missed Stacy, he really did, sometimes he regretted dropping that slip of paper, but then he would remember why he did it, and would try his hardest to convince himself that it had been for the best. His stomach aches had decreased, since he wasn't the center of attention anymore and his mother had let him wear the things he wanted, he felt slightly less nervous and anxious. But there was still that nagging feeling in his brain, the one that whispered all his little insecurities in his ear every time he felt uncomfortable. Those whispers were in full swing because that night he would be meeting his mother's "boyfriend" or whatever grown-ups called it. His mother had made him wear a dress, so his stomach felt like it was about to turn inside of itself and expel everything it held. His hands were sweaty as he sat at the dinner table, waiting for this "Omar" guy to show up. There was a knock at the door and his mother rushed from the boiling pasta, to let him in.

"Hey Gracie, do you remember me? The last time I saw you you were about this big!" The man that rounded the corner to the kitchen was handsome with olive skin and brown eyes, he held out his hand, his fingers about an inch apart.

"So I was a fetus when you last saw me?" He said sarcastically, even at this young age, he had a pretty smart mouth. His mother's eyes widened

"Gracie, watch your tone." His mother looked embarrassed but Omar was shaking with laughter. His warm eyes crinkled

"Audra, it's fine. You got a smart one here!" He smiled kindly at him and sat to the seat on the right of him. As his mother tended to the pasta, Omar took the time to ask him questions.

"So how is school, getting good grades, making any friends?" He sat with a blank look on his face. He didn't really want to talk about, thankfully he was young and without a filter, so he said just what was on his mind.

"I don't want to talk about school." Omar nodded

"Fair enough. Since I asked you a question, you can ask me one if you want." He had a million, so his mouth immediately shot off.

"How do you know my mom? Are you her boyfriend? Where do you work? How did you know me as a fetus?" Omar held his hands up, his eyes widening.

"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! One question at a time." He took a deep breath and wondered which question he wanted to know the most. He could go straight for the throat and figure out if this man was indeed his mother's "boyfriend", or he could take a more subtle approach.

"How do you know my mom?" He said after about a minute or so of deliberation. Omar rubbed his chin, thinking for a second before saying,

"Well, I've known your mother since we were both kids. We never really talked until I was hired at her father's law firm. You know a law firm? It's a place for lawyers, that's my job, as well. I'm a lawyer." He stared blankly at him, no he was absolutely positive he had no idea what a law firm was. He nodded anyways, and turned towards his mother, who was bringing dinner to the table.

"Audra, this looks fantastic. Andrew is going to have a fit once he finds out I had spaghetti without him." Omar chuckled and looked at him as he was dispensing spaghetti onto his plate.

"Where is Andrew? I thought you would be bringing him." Omar passed the bowl of bread to him and glanced at his mother

"Laura wanted to keep him for another week." His mother nodded understandingly. Omar again looked at him with a warm smile before picking up his fork

"You know Gracie, I have a son who's around your age." Audra nodded looking at him as if she wanted him to say something.

"That's cool." He said monotonously, stabbing a meatball with his fork, his left hand holding up his head as he looked down at his plate.

"Yeah, I think you'd guys really get along. Well, we'll find out here soon, you are going to meet him at the wedding after all." He dropped his fork and looked wide eyed to the kind eyed man with confusion. Audra gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

"I haven't told her yet, Omar!" Omar's eyes widened as well as he looked between his mother and him.

"What do you mean you haven't told her? We've been planning for two months! The wedding is next week!" His mother sighed

"Gracie could you wait outside the kitchen for a minute? Omar and I are going to have a grown-up talk." He shot up and ran to the living room, his mother shutting the kitchen door behind him. In his mind, "grown-up talk" meant a violent argument that lead to someone angrily leaving the house and slamming the door behind them. When he didn't immediately hear shouting he became curious, he walked steadily and quietly to the kitchen door and pressed his ear up against it.

"Her father just left, she's in a new school, a new town, and I didn't want to stress her any more than she already is. She gets nervous very easily, I didn't want her revert back to her old ways. I was going to tell her tonight actually, that's why I invited you to dinner." He heard Omar dropped his fork and run his hands down his face, sighing loudly. He felt a small shiver go down his spine. That's what his father would do right before he started screaming at his mother. He instinctively covered his ears.

"Okay, I understand. But don't you think it's just going to stress the poor girl out, it being shoved on her so suddenly?" He dropped his hands from his ears. Okay? So the guy wasn't yelling, in fact his voice was calm and gentle, yet demanding at the same time.

"I know, I know. But I felt I was being unfair, she's just getting over her father treatment of her, he wasn't good to her, it really affected the way she views men. I didn't want to push another father figure into her life so suddenly. I want her to like you, Omar. I don't want her to be afraid of you like she was of Paul." He heard Omar's chair scrap against the floor, and his footsteps as he approached his mother.

"If she's anything like you, she'll grow love me." Omar said teasingly, he nearly gagged.

"You are full of yourself, but I guess that's why I love you." That time he did gag.

"I'm marrying you next week, no exceptions. I'm not waiting another sixteen years." He heard them kiss and nearly vomited.

"Okay, Gracie, you can get your ear off the door now!" Omar chuckled out,

"Gracie! You know you're not supposed to listen in on the adults."

"Honestly, Andrew is just like that. They'll be great friends."


	4. Chapter 4

Fish Tank

Chapter 4

He was the flower girl; all he had to do was walk down the aisle in front of his mother and drop flowers everywhere. It seemed like an easy job, but if he was totally honest with himself, he was dying inside. He was terrified that he would screw up, and to make matters worse he was in a dress. And it wasn't just any dress, it was a dress fit for a princess, and he had only said he liked it to please his mother, who had begun to worry over his more boyish attributes. He hated that look his mother gave him when he sought out the boy's toys at the store, or how she shook her head when she found out how much he wore the denim jacket that Omar had given him. He didn't want his mother to worry over him, especially know that it was her wedding day. Even though it had been quickly thrown together, many people crowded the small church. He was currently hiding away behind one of pews picking at the hem of his dress. All day, almost every minute, old women, whom he didn't know, would come up to him and pinch his cheeks saying,

"Oh Gracie, you look so beautiful, like a little princess."

"You look so much like your mother, so pretty."

"You're going to be such a cute little flower girl."

Each word felt like a punch. He was so humiliated and embarrassed, he felt like he would cry. He hated this, at that moment he didn't care if this was his mother's wedding day, he didn't care how happy it was going to make her or Omar for that matter. All he cared about was soothing the fire in his stomach and quieting the little voice in the back of his head screaming at him. He didn't was to be a pretty girl, he looked to the young men in their tuxes and felt a pang of jealousy. No he definitely didn't want to be that, but his mind told him not to go there, because if he did he would start to cry. And he knew one thing about boys, they didn't cry. Or at least not to the point where they were out of breathe and their head ached. He curled even further into himself, and began biting the inside of his cheek. It was a new habit he began after his mother had begun noticing the little bruises that his pinching was leaving behind.

"Hey, you hiding from someone?" He looked up into a handsome yet young and round face. The boy stood with confidence, his back straight, head forward, yet he was relaxed. His hands were shoved into his pockets and a dark eyebrow was quirked.

"Ladies, they keep messing with me…" They boy laughed, and took a seat next to him. He scooted away a little, still wary about the dark haired, dark skinned boy.

"I know what you mean, my cheeks are sore from them pinching me so much. I thought that was just a movie thing, old ladies pinching your cheeks." He said nothing; instead he scratched his hair underneath his headband and looked straight ahead. The boy sighed and took out something from his inside jacket.

"You read comics? I snuck in, like five. There's so many pockets in this jacket it's insane. I also got bubblegum, you want some?" He was somewhat startled by the boys forwardness, he wasn't used to people his own age being so kind to him right off the bat. They usually picked and prodded at him until they finally came to the conclusion that they didn't like him. He chuckled,

"Yeah, sure." He took the chunk of bubblegum, and popped it in his mouth; it was grape, his favorite.

"You want a comic-book, the only other thing to do is read the bible or get messed with by a bunch of old crazy ladies." The boy handed him a comic before he could even say anything. The cover was colorful, with a man in a skin tight red suit, shooting white stuff from his wrists.

"Spiderman?" The boy looked up from his comic,

"Yeah, Spiderman, you know, he's like a spider, and he fights crime…" he looked at the boy blankly.

"Wait, are you seriously saying that you have no idea who Spiderman is? That's impossible, only someone who lives under a rock wouldn't know who Spiderman is. Than again, you are a girl." He turned his head embarrassed.

"Dad didn't let me watch a lot of T.V. or read anything a boy would." He said quietly,

"Oh, yeah, that sucks. Dad lets me read almost anything I want and watch lots of T.V. What exactly do you do for fun?" He shrugged

"I like building stuff, like with Legos. And I like reading those books where you can choose what you do."

"What like Goosebumps? I don't know any girl that likes Goosebumps, or playing with Legos. Most girls usually just giggle around and play house." He turned; the boy was looking at him as if he was trying to figure him out.

"Yeah, well, I'm not like that." He hoped that was the end of it, he hoped the boy would just leave him alone now. He thought he was nice, but once he compared him with girls, he didn't like him that much anymore.

"Cool." He looked up startled,

"I mean, it's cool that you like that stuff. I'm Drew by the way and your Gracie I'm guessing, I guess like, I'm your brother or something. Sorry I didn't tell you right away, I wanted to see if you were cool. And you are." This guy was going to be his step-brother? He seemed brash and somewhat arrogant. But then again, he seemed kind and gentle, like Omar.

"Cool, I guess you're kind of cool too." Drew smiled, and they both looked down to their comic books.


End file.
